The Couch
by coquelicotte
Summary: Edward, finding his life in a state of disarray and pain, looks to Bella to patch him up. Bella, a budding psychology student who is so close to making an impression on her professor, excitedly agrees to mend Edward's woes, though she cannot foresee the tumultuous situation she just found herself in. Please read, enjoy, and review!


The Couch: Chapter 1

(Edward's P.O.V.)

Something acidic or otherwise corrosive had found its way inside me and from there had burned a pit into my stomach. At least that's what it felt like. My jaw was clenched and my nostrils were flared, allowing me to take hearty breaths that did little to sooth the frantic feeling inside me.

My fingers were tightly hooked around the steering wheel, turning my knuckles white. I was surprised that there was no blood seeping through the bandages on my right hand. As I looked out from my window as I drove, I realized I hadn't a clue where I was.

I flew down the road, dangerously unaware of the cars that drove past me. I screeched to a halt at a red light and squinted my eyes as I tried to find the street sign. As my car slowed, the fatigue I had staved off for so long hit me. I jabbed my fingers against my temples and rubbed, trying to fight off an impending headache.

A loud honk came from behind me and my head jolted up. I saw that the light had turned green and I crashed my foot against the gas, tires screeching as my car bolted forward. Eventually, I slowed down and decided I wasn't in proper form to drive. I slowly drove around and took in my surroundings. Though I did most of my living downtown, I had been to this area every now and then for business meetings, and I was grateful for being somewhere familiar.

There were hotels all along the side of the road and I quickly pulled into the u-shaped driveway of a particularly extravagant one. I vaguely remembered attending a meeting here and more-than-vaguely recalled the finely stocked bar.

I tossed my keys to the valet and hurried inside, anxiously seeking a relief from the memories that kept striking me like flashes of lighting; they came too fast and far too vividly. After checking me into a room, the receptionist pointed me to the bar.

I grinned stupidly to myself as I righted myself in the bar stool, ordering three shots of whiskey off the bat. I crookedly smiled at the bartender, insisting that I was staying in the hotel so it would be perfectly _fine _if I had a little too much. She must have seen something in my eyes that softened her into pouring me drink after drink. It must have been pity. Had to be.

-_Approximately 1.5 hours later-_

I could tell my posture had gone to shit but I was too enraptured in my glass to care. My mother would hang her head in shame if she saw me.

"How are we doing there, Eddie?" She leaned forward, her arms resting on the top of the bar.

I laughed, "Eddie? No one's called me that since I was a kid."

She pouted, "So I can't call you that?"

I sat back in my chair, "No, I think you can call me that."

She raised an eyebrow, "Oh, can I? That's good to know." She smiled at me, playful and teasing. "So what exactly is a handsome man like you doing drinking alone on this beautiful summer night?"

I let my glass go and the clang as it hit the bar top was resounding. The bartender looked at me curiously. "I'm married."

She nodded slowly and I continued, "I shouldn't be here. But I am." She looked somewhat insulted so I clarified, "Not _here _physically, but here in life."

"I'm not really following…" she told me, her eyebrows furrowed.

I ran my hand through my hair and sighed, "About four hours ago, I left work and saw I had a text from my wife. She was telling me what we would be having for dinner. Completely normal. I get home and she's in our bed with my best friend and I lost it. I punched him and then I punched a hole in the wall. I bandaged myself up and then I drove away."

Her mouth dropped open. "Oh, _crap_. I'm really sorry."

I could feel a stinging in my eyes and so I gulped down the last of my drink. "I'm not sure how much I want to talk about my wife right now," I told the pretty bartender, smiling and leaning in close to her.

She seemed to forget the my tragic story as she poured another shot into my glass, "Is that so? I can think of some other stuff we can talk about."

My mind was hazy and my heart was broken but I was still too aware of what I was getting myself into. I downed my shot, noticing the lack of a burn. "I'm not sure how much I want to talk at all."

She bit her bottom lip. "Hm. I might have an idea of what we can do other than talking. What's your hotel room?"

I smiled lazily and slipped the second card key towards her. After another shot I found myself drunkenly sauntering to the elevator.

Miracle of all miracles, I made it to my room. I slammed the door shut and found my way to the bathroom. The light was too harsh and I regretted glimpsing at my bloodshot eyes and disheveled hair. I wondered what exactly the bartender saw in me but brushed that off as I shambled to the mini bar.

I guzzled down two miniature bottles of tequila before I began to tear of my clothes, leaving myself only in my boxer-briefs.

The alcohol began dizzying me and so I splayed out, enjoying the feeling of the cool duvet on my bare back. I wasn't sure how long I'd been lying down before I heard someone stumble in, followed by giggling. "Eddie?"

I smiled widely. Smiling felt very good in that moment. "Mmmhmmmm."

More giggling followed by clothes hitting the floor. And then, there was a warm body over me. "Mm, Stacy."

She squealed, "Stacy isn't my name."

I laughed loudly, "No? I didn't know and I thought for sure your name would be Stacy."

"Hehe. No, _silly_." She didn't seem bothered and I didn't pursue finding out her actual name.

I grabbed her waist and flipped us so I was leaning over her. She seemed to enjoy this and tossed her head back. However, I lost my balance and we rolled off in a tangle of sheets and laughter.

We ended up by the mini bar and more drinks were had. Drinking the coconut rum was a last ditch effort to reach a forget-my-name level of inebriation.

I believe the coconut rum worked, however, as I woke up the next morning, my neck stiff from having slept in a chair. Stacy, or whatever, was on the floor, her bright blonde hair splayed all around her. I squinted and saw that we had effectively trashed the hotel room in some way or another.

Sighing, I sat back into the leather chair. I was glad the coconut rum was all I remembered.


End file.
